maudie’s & goodwill

maudie’s & goodwill

about 5 seconds from my house. I go there a lot. kinda like a “norm!” @ cheers moment sometimes, but you still don’t care if you’re wearing mascara or not. it’s just that kind of place. they’ve got this blistering-hot hot sauce — in case you think i’m a wenie, i won a jalapeno eating contest in college, so i know what i’m talking about… food’s great, too, but that’s not the best thing. it’s the people. the staff.

they’re all so damn happy. tonight, i asked the hostess how she was doing. it’s so fun being here, she said. i just love my job so much it’s not even like coming to work. now, seriously, how many people do you know who say that & mean it? they’ve had the same people working there since beans were new, & that’s saying something.

this is the place where clinton came two weeks ago, if anybody saw my FB post. they said he was a hoot, posing for everybody’s selfies. of all the nights for me to stay home eating a bowl of cereal…. damnit, janet!

here’s the other thing — there’s a goodwill a coupla doors down. people call it the gucci goodwill (GGW to people “in the know”) because all the donations are from the neighborhood — not like i’m some ritzy socialite (as if) but somebody’s bringing in some pretty cool stuff. not the women’s dept. — you can forget it on that — but the men’s? now, you’re going to think this sounds totally gross & i guess it is, wearing somebody else’s shoes — but someone i know got a pair of real-live alligator dress shoes. i guess they were dead-live. no wait, real-dead. whatever, they were slick.

sometimes you can score some pretty awesome albums, too. they always seem to have the same helen reddy’s “i am woman, hear me roar” — don’t know why somebody hasn’t snapped that one up. & a little anne murray “snow bird” — also still there. they had the partridge family & i was so pissed when it was scratched to hell. i got wayne newton’s “red roses for a blue lady.” come on — i hadn’t heard that since my mom played it on the hi-fi, & old wayne still rocks it.

all right, i’m going to let you in on a secret, so don’t tell everybody — you cool?  okay, it’s the auction. most of it you wouldn’t touch with a 12 foot pole, but darlin’, i’ve scored some good shit. 

imagine someone who cleans out their grandma’s house after she kicks off. ew, what’s THIS, i can just hear them saying….  it’s a fine-as-hell oil painting, you idiot. so here i was a couple of weeks ago. grabbed myself up a couple of bullfighting paintings. & no, they weren’t velvet &, no, elvis wasn’t the matador. the technique, the brushstrokes…  absolutely killer. got myself a nifty little iron chair with a tufted seat for my vanity. a waterford bowl. i’m telling you, the GGW doesn’t suck.

i also hang out at estate sales. you can really score at those. gotta get there early, though.

oh, & did i tell you i got some incredible hartman luggage? coolest yellow lamp…  i think i might have a problem.

so, back to maudie’s. i absolutely recommend the tacos al pastor & the chicken flaquitos, or taquitos or flautitos – i never can remember what they’re called, oh — & the avocado tomatillo sauce.

did you notice i didn’t mention when the auction IS?  as my mother used to say, you don’t have to tell everything you know.

TTFN

 

 

 

 

my faith in humanity is restored

my faith in humanity is restored

have you ever had something that bugs the wahoola out of you? sure you have, & if not, you must be either totally zen, brain dead. or maybe you’re just a nicer person than i am, which is a distinct possibility.

okay — so here’s the deal. & this was a big one because it had to do with where i live. specifically, the livestock that live across the street, like 6 “mother-may-I” steps from the end of my driveway. that’s 3 goats, don’t know how many chickens, a goose & huge pig. & this is in a pretty decent neighborhood in the middle of a big city, i might add.

& it drives me absolutely nuts, i’m not going to lie.

not only did my neighbor tell me to jump in the lake when i suggested he move the livestock pen across from his front door instead of mine, but my own mother turned on me. not that she thinks it’s peachy-keen either, but she told me to get over it, because nothing i was going to do would change it, so i should just take a big old chill-pill.

well, i tried, but i couldn’t get it to go down. it got stuck in my throat, or my craw… suffice it to say that it was a gargantuan bur under my saddle.

then, the strangest thing happened this morning. my neighbor said he wanted my input on the new fence & rock wall he’s putting up.

no way! seriously?

it sounds like it’s going to be pretty nice, too. so there you are.

so, what’s the moral of this story? good things come to those who wait? miracles happen? the sun will come out tomorrow?

all i know is that i’m tickled to death, & yes — my faith in humanity is restored.

does anybody want to join me in doing the endzone dance?

TTFN …. & for anybody who didn’t read my post about the grumpy guy @ the liquor store, & you know who you are, TTFN is tigger-speak for ta-ta for now.

so, TTFN!

that grumpy guy @ the liquor store

that grumpy guy @ the liquor store

he really kind of drives me nuts. he always wears a purple basketball jersey with the name of some stupid team on it — i think it’s the louisiana lakers, & if you’re fan, well, if you’d seen him in it, you’d want to yank the stupid jersey off his wiry little body. i just wish it didn’t show so much underarm hair, but maybe that’s just me.

beady little close-set eyes narrowed, he always has a scowl on his face, like he’s totally pissed-off at the world. maybe i would be, too if i had to card the little punks trying to buy beer all day long, and then spend the night shift pretending not to notice when the old lady winos come in for another bottle before last call.

i know what you’re thinking — that to know so much about him, i must spend a fair amount of time at the counter myself. if i weren’t such a sweetheart, I’d tell you to mind your own business.

anyway – imagine my surprise this afternoon to find el grumpo with a goofy smile on his lips. a regular little happy camper, he was.

he found religion.

not the bible-thumping type. the,  I’ve-just-been-to-anger-management-type, because otherwise, his old lady was making him hit the road.

he called her that, not me.

well, my heavens, i said breathlessly– tell me more.

with giddy excitement, he told me about a book he’d just read — positivity by barbara fredrickson, & an online course by a man named john schinerer — said his blog’s right here on wordpress — positive.psychologyblog.

so, check it out if you want to. or if your old lady says you have to want to.

you know me — just doing my job to make this world a better place.

TTFN

learned that from my homeboy, tigger.

it means, ta-ta for now!

watching my reflection on my computer screen

watching my reflection on my computer screen

admit it — you’ve done it, too.  when the light hits it just right, the screen is like a mirror. like catching a glimpse of yourself in a storefront window. you know how you pretend you’re not watching yourself because everyone inside the store will think you’re a freak? well, that’s what’s happening right now as i scrutinize my deformed nostrils on my computer screen while sitting in the  middle of starbucks.

i just keep getting cooler all the time. 

my daughter & i were having dinner @ the café inside nordstroms department store — you know, the place with the yummy salads where the waiter always brings a chocolate-covered peppermint stick with your bill  so you’ll tip him extra? i really love that place. anyway — while we were eating, she informed me with a snide little laugh that my nostrils are different sizes.

well, guess what, hot rod, i told her. yours are, too.

what????  

she didn’t believe it until she whipped out her phone & took a nostril selfie.  she just had to take a picture of mine, too, of course & posted them side-by-side on instagram where i’m sure they’ve gone viral — 1,000,000 hits & counting.

okay, tell the truth. you’re checking your own nostrils on your screen right about now, aren’t you?

are they the same size? just curious.

that piña colada song

that piña colada song

what do you want to hear about? more body language, more miley cyrus, more dear abby?

okay, dear abby it is. i keep a stack of the stupid ones around here, so let’s see what i have. &, incidentally, i don’t read abby’s response before writing mine, just to keep everyone honest.

okay. the letter is signed, “second to a screen name.”

woman has been married for 7 years with 2 kids. husband has what she describes as an “internet addiction.”  he’s online all night long from the time she goes to bed to when she wakes up to take the kids to school. (this couldn’t be going anywhere good.)  okay, let’s see what else…  uh-oh. she did some digging & discovered he’s got lots of different profiles of lots of different dating sites. (well, you saw THAT one coming.)  when she confronted him, he said he has no interest in having an affair, that he’s been depressed for some time & that it’s his way of escaping. she told him he needs a therapist & he said she shouldn’t be hurt because it’s only “make believe.”

their relationship has taken a serious dive. she doesn’t trust him on the computer anymore, doesn’t find him attractive anymore & no longer feels attractive herself & says she doesn’t know how to be supportive when he won’t admit he has a problem.

ahhhhhh, “second to a screen name”…..  what to do, oh what to do.

okay. here’s what i’d tell her:

he’s a freak, & hell, yes, he’s having an affair. & be supportive? are you kidding? instead of being in bed with you all kissy-face & huggy-body, he’s trolling the internet & if you think he’s just on “dating sites,” well, girl — you’re more cut off from reality than he is. you can either take care of business or you can wait until the FBI rings the doorbell & confiscates your computer.

have the internet yanked out, like pronto. what’s he going to do then? start doing it on his phone? get that turned off, too. okay, let’s think about this. you don’t say whether he has a job or not, but i doubt it because he’d be asleep on his desk all day which means he’s probably lost his job now, too.

all right – here’s another idea. do you remember that Piña Colada song? you know, “if you like piña coladas, & gettin’ caught in the rain…. if you’re not into yoga & you’re into champagne,” where the loser dude is doing the same thing except with personals ads? the woman writes an ad of her own, he answers it & meets her for a date & they’re happily-ever-after again.

okay, scrap that. what a BS song — i mean come ON!

you’ve got to dump this guy by sundown or your life is garbage, & if you think it’s going to get any better, you’re nuts.   men like having a warm place to put it, & trust me, they’re usually putting it somewhere.

all righty, let’s see what dear abby says:

#1 on the woman’s agenda should be going to therapist herself before she gets all depressed, too.  #2, since his own “therapy” for depression isn’t working, the wife can’t fix his problem because only he can do that, so let’s hope he comes to his senses while the marriage is still salvageable.

oh, dear, dear abby… you so clearly need my help. this marriage is not, i repeat not, salvageable & she needs to cut to the freaking chase already.

is that wrong?

The Final Curtain

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